


Voices

by TheTentacleCommander



Series: The Devil's Saga series extras [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Eye Gouging, Eye Trauma, Horror, Implied/Referenced Torture, Monsters, Murder, Old work, One Shot, One of My Favorites, Predator/Prey, Raccoon City, Short One Shot, Side Story, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacles, Torture, Violence, cornered
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 20:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4849814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTentacleCommander/pseuds/TheTentacleCommander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of 'downtime' in Nemesis' obsessive search for Jill. Let's just say that even if you aren't a set target, you don't fare well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voices

_Voices, voices everywhere._

The flames around a crashed vehicle flickered and dimed, adding backdrop to a street that has seen better times. The mat of rain mixed with the cool air and the red that coated where inhumanly large feet now tread. The overall layer of decay was ever present. Decay and death; scents he simply phased out, like adjusting the treble to a radio. The scene mirrored what affected all over this once sleepy town. These were things he did not care to ponder or mourn. That was the realm of humans and theirs to mull over.

Scents flair out wildly, none of them the target he was searching for. The thing in his head hissed, raged, the electronic yet oddly human voice pushing; demanding. The scents are concentrated. Not his target; not sub targets. Nothing but waste left behind. But they distract. Not dead yet. Still breathing. This is wrong. This must be fixed.

Inhumanly sized boots tred into a building with its once pristine tile floors marred by dirt, blood, and the casualties of those unfortunate to meet their end as a zombie's meal. But the sounds were still here in this hospital turned tomb. The place was filled with pictures of cartoonish animals, topped over crates; smelt of animal as well.

Whispers; a shush. To them, their speech was faint; to him the words are deafening. Agitating. Sickening. They are not targets. They are not B.O.W. They are just

_Pointless._

If he could simply upturn the flesh that never was there into a smile, it would read cool, empty of any real cheer. The stealthy click clack of something hard hit the floor in a slow pitter patter; they moved with a silence that he knew a human would not out right hear. But if anything, having limited vision made his hearing that much more pinpoint, a movement of air followed by claws only to hear the abrupt screech of a reptilian creature. Its face snarled, matching the agitated movements of its body trying to squirm its way out of the larger fist that held its neck in captivity.

Shrieking, lashing of talons merely fascinated him for a time before boredom - his constant nemesis - overcame him. Five inhumanly large fingers snapped the scaled neck with but a small movement on his end.  The effortless toss of the limp creature against a wall caused another hapless whisper. Whispers praising, begging; one is asking for this 'god'. He didn't understand why they would ask such odd requests. Then again they named him thus, trained him thus, and maimed him thus. _Humans are strange fickle creatures. So frail._

The scent of them, these ...targets, they reeked of dirt, of blood, of their frailness, of their fear. That delicious and comforting fear, something the scaled creature could not, or would not provide. He traveled at first quietly, placing them with ease. It was a room full of cages; an animal internment room. There as he peered in the darkened place were glimpses of movement; a pair of fingers played along one metal bar. He didn't hide his movements now; they weren't of any threat, just animals in a cage.

3 to be precise, cowering where they belong.

Three little things hiding in a cage. One breathed out, "Mother of god." Breathing; that voice was filled with fear struck awe. A memory slithered from the back of his mind. _A male, shaking in fear with a bloodied scalpel._ He reached into the cage, the thing pushing himself as far back into the cage as possible along with the other two. This wouldn't do. _Why is it backing up like that?_ This agitated and infuriated him; it was like dangling meat in front of him.

A tendril snaked from his palm, whipping past the metal bars, routing in the dark and tiny cell. The little animal, the weak little thing crawled, kicking out a shoe covered foot. He was annoyed at its hapless struggle. A pained yell tuned into a prolonged scream as he let the tendril pierce the male into the meat of its foot. He twisted the tentacle then, almost serene in the human male's suffering. The faint whimpers from the two others in the cage were delirious with fear, reeking of it. Heartbeats were spiking from each of them. One of those left glanced at him with eyes the deepest of blue.

For a brief, hanging moment, he felt drawn into them, their rich color, their outright bravery and defiance. The screaming, the fear, the death that hung all over dropped to simply thinking about her, the only target to ever simply stand against him. Even when she fled, it was not out of fear or mere survival. He had watched her in those times too. The human had worked to repair things, save others of her kind, armed herself. She knew he was hunting, playing mercilessly with her and yet still fought a pointless one woman war.

He hated her defiant stare.

But, he respected it too.

That brief moment had fleetingly ended with those eyes watering, the tears trailing down this rather ordinary plain human's face. Ordinary and pointless as the others of her number trapped in this cage. His attraction to the eyes dropped to nothing. Nothing but hate and disdain. Those eyes that stared at him were an affront to his main target's strength and bravery. Those eyes glistened yet still stared up at him. Up at, like all weak things. _Why is it staring?_

_I'll give it reason to stare._

The female had no warning. A tentacle launched from up under his skirt bottom impaling her right in the left eye. His tendril had long quickly retracted before she had begun her screeching. This caused him to laugh, an unholy sound that was a demonic mockery of a human's voice. Eventually he would get tired of the noises; would remember he has a target to find. When that moment happened, the voices of the three humans would go silent.


End file.
